by midnight a moon
by TamariChan
Summary: Kel and Jon: Sometimes it's too late, and that's probably for the best. Written for Malorie's Peak Prompt "Bad Blood" at Goldenlake.


**Disclaimer: The world and characters of Tortall all belong to Tamora Pierce.**

 **Written for Malorie's Peak Prompt #113 "Bad Blood" at Goldenlake. Come check us out!**

-:-

Their eyes lock across the ballroom — hers hazel and less dreamy than usual, his sapphire and more thoughtful. She breaks the stare first, but she can't help glancing back a moment later. His gaze hasn't faltered.

"Is something wrong?" Neal asks her. "You seem like you're in another world tonight."

She shakes her head and takes a sip of wine. "It's nothing."

Neal knows her better than that, but he lets it go. He doesn't follow her when she excuses herself to get another drink. Not that she really needs another one, she thinks, considering how unusually tipsy she's feeling already. Kel approaches a squire holding a platter of glasses. He looks up at her, then again, startled. There are still only two lady knights, after all, so she's used to double takes.

She reconsiders her conclusion about the cause of the squire's surprise when she hears a rumbly voice from behind her. A turn brings her face to face with the king.

"Lady Knight Keladry," Jonathan says. "I didn't expect to see you tonight."

She smiles, lips tight. "I didn't expect to be here." That's true enough.

"You look lovely."

Kel finds the appropriateness of that comment, especially in this venue, questionable. But she has learned well Raoul's lesson about not confronting royalty in public. "Thank you."

"New Hope still thriving?" he asks.

Kel's fingers turn white around her glass. He knows full well that it is. Probably better than she knows, after he's ordered her away and back to court.

"So I hear," she replies coolly. Across the ballroom, the dancing has become lively, and nobody's paying any attention to the king or the lady knight.

"Would you care to take a walk? It is rather hot in here tonight," Jonathan offers. He surely knows how she feels about him. But he must know too that to refuse would be a great insult.

"Of course, Majesty," Kel says, trying not to grit her teeth. She hands off her drink to a squire and follows the king to the courtyard.

The roses are in full bloom, scent wafting across the gardens. The breeze is gentle, playing with the ends of Kel's hair and the hem of her skirts. Jonathan's hair is dark in the starlight.

"Tell me, Keladry, how you are finding court?"

She blinks at him, before turning to examine a rose. "Your court is beautiful, Your Highness. But it is not what I imagined being a knight to be."

"Most knights spend time — sometimes a lot of time — at court," Jonathan points out. He touches her shoulder to bring her back to look at him.

Highly, highly inappropriate, Kel thinks. Nothing shows on her face. "That's true."

"But you're not 'most knights,' indeed, Keladry?" His smile is wry. "Sometimes I wish Alanna had your problem. She says what she means even when she shouldn't."

"And I don't say what I mean, Your Majesty?"

Jonathan shakes his head. "No, you say nothing. Pleasantries. Answers that aren't answers. You are a diplomat's daughter, for certain." He touches her again, this time on her arm, his fingers brushing the embellishment on her sleeve.

He is the king, she knows. He is certainly handsome. (He is married. He is unfair. He is the reason she endured probation.)

"I am," she agrees. "I find that often times people don't want to hear what I have to say."

He looks at her sideways, his eyelashes lowered. He, for one, has always heard even what she does not say.

"When we get older," Jonathan says, "life becomes dull. We're going through the motions. Every day the same. We would do anything to feel alive again. Do you know what I mean, Keladry?"

She knows. She is young, but she knows. Maybe it has more to do with what she has seen of the world than her age.

"Yes," she says, "but we must also think of the consequences of our actions."

"Must we?"

She faces him then. They stand eye to eye, so close, so close. She can see the thickness of his eyelashes and the flecks of gray in his charcoal 's a pause, a moment — but it's gone, and she's stepping back, and she hardens her face and her heart.

"There are some things people can't forgive," Kel says. "So we must think carefully on our actions. _Before_ we make them. Goodnight."

She walks away, leaving echoes of youth in her wake.


End file.
